


The Oubliette

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Ireland, Mystery, Rats, Revenge, Thunder and Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 14:16:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8330926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: One way in, no way out. Napoleon faced the darkness as he searched for his missing partner. This was only the beginning of what would be an horrific affair.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to "Stalling for time."

                           

  
The purring of the car engine and crunch of the gravel beneath the tires were the only perceptible sounds as Napoleon Solo drove his rental car past the wrought iron gate.

His destination was a southern style mansion surrounded by stately oak trees in their yearly molt. Once the car door was opened, the rustling of the leaves along the swirled around him.

“I’m getting a feeling deja vú,” Solo whispered to himself.

A familiar voice spoke to him.“ _That is because it looks just like that place in Virginia...was it? A funeral chapel, and you were put into a coffin.”_

“Gee thanks for the happy memories,” Napoleon frowned. 

 _“You are welcome._ ” 

The trouble was, the coverstion was imaginary, it was all in his head as his friend and partner, Illya Kuryakin had gone missing.

It was nearly two months since the Russian had disappeared on a routine courier mission in Alabama, and now there was finally a break; a chance he was still among the living. That’s what Napoleon hoped. 

Solo skirted alongside the dark sedan with his weapon drawn; stepping away from it and up the short flight of stairs leading to the arched white door in the front of the house.

 There were no signs of life, no light shining through the shuttered windows and as Napoleon turned the door handle; he was surprised to find it unlocked. Stepping inside, he was greeted by a number of caskets lining the wall...it was a display room.

 _“See, I told you,_ ” Illya whispered in Solo’s head. 

“If you’re going to say something, then tell me where you are tovarisch.” 

This time there was only silence...

The room reeked of sickly sweet flowers that lined the walls, set in vases on pedistals.  Flickering of funerary candles with read sconces offer an eerie light nearby; one that made the American just a little nervous.

 He crept past the caskets, shaking off the creepy feeling the setting gave him until he came to a door, this one however was locked and Solo knelt with his loc pick, going at it.

 He felt as if his partner were leaning on him, and became somewhat irritated, yet wondered why it all felt so real. Was it Illya’s ghost haunting him or just the memories of the Russian very much stuck in his head?

“Will you get off me, you are cramping my elbow room,” Napoleon whispered out of habit. Was he losing his mind?

There was a sharp pain to the back of his neck, sending the American  unconscious to the ugly green shag carpet covering the floor.

 

Napoleon Solo awoke, finding his hands tied, and cocooned by the satin linings of a coffin. “Oh crap, not again?” He moaned.

“Hello Mr. Solo. Glad you have finally rejoined us. I do apologize for my associates enthusiasm. They could have just as easily asked for your gun along with your surrender.”

A man standing in the shadows spoke; the only thing visible was the lit end of his cigarette and the curls of smoke as they drifted into the light.

 Napoleon, however, recognized that voice instantly and was shocked to hear it.

 “Gairovald Mephisto-Labé...I thought you were locked up?” 

“Ah the rumors of my incarceration were highly exaggerated. Scotland Yard underestimated my abilites and I was able to escape quite easily. Now I think you do owe me Mr. Solo...you deprived me of my exquisite art treasures as well as the pleasure of disposing of your friend Mr. Kuryakin.*

“They were never yours Labé and, speaking of Mr. Kuryakin... may I ask where he is?” Solo wiggled in the coffin, testing his position while trying to peek over the edge.

“Soon enough Mr. Solo, soon enough.”

Labé stepped forward, abruptly closing the lid to the coffin…

Napoleon took deep calming breaths. It didn’t matter that he was using up his oxygen supply, if he was being buried alive...well what was the point of prolonging it. He guessed that’s what was happening. Though his hands were tied, he could feel his watch was missing, as no doubt were his explosive putty and fuses.

He had no sense of time as to how long he’d laid there, but could finally feel himself being moved as he was jostled inside his prison. It was being lifted and angled downward.  Was he being lowered into his grave?

There was a thud, and he came to a jolting stop. Napoleon waited for the sound of dirt being thrown on top of the coffin.  It was over, the Solo luck had finally run out.

“Tovarisch,” he said aloud. “Where are you when I really need you.” He whispered his friend’s name one last time. “Illya…”

Illya didn’t answer.

 It seemed like a lifetime they’d had each others back, first working as a well honed team. A partenrship that grew into friendship and finally brotherhood.  Labé had said ‘soon enough’ when Solo had asked about the Russian, and since this impending burial could mean only one thing...he was joining Illya in death.

As he waited, there was only silence, and finally a click.  The lid to the coffin slowly opened, and Solo took a deep refreshing breath of air into his lungs.

Napoleon blinked, adjusting his eyes to the light as he was lifted out of the coffin by several pairs of strong arms. Surveying his surroundings; he saw a stainless steel table, and all the accutrements needed for the embalming process.  For a second he swallowed hard, thinking that was the next thing going to happen, being ‘pickled’ alive…

Instead he was carried past the table to a dark corner of the room, from the looks of it, the place was obviously some sort of basement.  The old red brick walls were damp and stained with white rivulets from efflorescence, salt residue from too much water seepage.

Napoleon was set on his feet, facing into the corner like a child being disciplined, but looking down he realized he was standing next to a large grate in the floor, perhaps three feet wide in diameter.

“Well here we meet again Mr. Solo,” Labé said, stepping up behind him. 

The UNCLE agent tried to turn but was held in place by the goons. 

“Good bye Mr. Solo, I cannot say parting is such sweet sorrow, but revenge in this case is definitely as sweet as honey.”

The grate was moved and Napoleon felt a kick in the middle of his back, sending him forward and head first through the opening.

It wasn’t a straight drop, instead there was an angled floor, letting him slide downwards until he came to a stop at the bottom of where ever it was..

Napoleon wriggled free of his bonds too easily, and surmised they’d been left that way on purpose.  Looking upwards at the light shining down the shaft; he squinted as his eyes adjusted.  The American could just about make out the non-descript face of Mephisto-Labé as he peered back at him.

“You won’t be able to get out you know, as you’re in an oubliette, with only one way in, but no way out…there’s plenty of water down there so you won’t die of thirst.  Food, now that’s another thing. I’m sure if you get hungry enough you’ll develp a taste for rat.  I know your partner has. Amazingly he’s still alive after all this time, at least I think he still is.”

“Illya’s down here?”

Labé only laughed as the heavy metal grate was lowered with a loud clang.

Oubliette...Napoleon stood for a moment, focusing his thoughts, and recalling exactly what that was. “ A forgotten place. It was a form of a dungeon that was only accessible from a hatch in a high ceiling.

The word came from the French word oublier, "to forget", as it was used for those prisoners their captors wished to wipe from their memories...as if they never had existed.

                      

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Well isn’t this another fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into Solo? He quickly reminded himself this was all for the sake of finding and rescuing his wayward partner. For a moment he half expected to hear Illya’s voice making some smart remark, but there was nothing.

Labé had apparently taken the Russian prisoner, but this time with the intention of capturing the American to exact his revenge upon him. When last they met, the UNCLE agent ruined his plans for getting his hands on  stolen Nazi treasures and artwork, the location of which was in Illya Kuryakin’s head. Solo saved his partner and thwarted Labé...whose incarceration by Scotland Yard ended up being very short-lived. *

Napoleon waited for a few minutes, hesitant to walk away from the shaft as it might be his only source of light.  He could hear water trickling nearby and decided to move cautiously towards it; keeping the light within view.

 

 

He found it only a few feet away, and scooped some of the refreshing water into his mouth, not even worrying if it might be tainted.  If Labé wanted him to die quickly, why bother dumping him down here?

“Illya?” He called out, hearing his voice echo down a cavernous tunnel; the Russian's name repeating several times. “ILLYA?”  There was nothing, not a sound at all except for the dripping of the water and the reverberation of his voice.

Should he begin to walk or stay by the light. He could lose himself easily in this place, wandering in endless and utter darkness until he died of...well probably starvation.

Not hearing a sound from the tunnels he decided it wise to stay by the shaft for the moment. Napoleon settled himself on the damp floor. He was exhausted from the shock of his ordeal with Labé. Thinking one was being buried alive was traumatic, to say the least.

He recalled having rescued Illya after being wrapped up as a mummy (for the second time) and placed in a sarcophagus, all part of a bizarre ritual. When he opened the coffin and undid the bandages from the gasping Russians head; Illya sobbed.  The fear and his suffocating had done that, thinking he was going to be buried alive in a stone tomb somewhere in the Temple of Isis. ***

Napoleon lay there, leaning his head on his outstretched arm as the light above him began to fade as no doubt the sun was setting. It was then he felt it, something touching his hand, and he jerked it away.

At first he thought it was a rat, but in the dimming light he saw the shape of a hand.

“Who is there?” A weak voiced whispered. Napoleon recognized it instantly.

“Illya? It’s me tovarisch,” he reached out taking hold of his partner’s hand. It was cold, and seemed weak.

He tugged,  guiding his partner to him. In the last of the light he saw a ghastly sight. Illya was ghostly white, his eyes darkened with black circles beneath them. It was his gauntness that was startling, as he had lost weight and looked barely to be a hundred pounds. His clothes were filthy and hanging off his body.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes partner mine.”

“Sure I am a sight all right,” Illya’s voice was nearly hoarse.”You would not happen to have any food on you; the service here is terrible and the...rats are hard to come by.”

“Seriously you’ve eaten rat?”

“Not the first time I have had to and will not be the last. I survived off them when I was a child during the war. The taste has not changed, a bit gamey, sort of like wild rabbit even though these ones were raw.”**

“Oh my God Illya you haven’t?”

“Yes I have. You know me and my metabolism. You do what you have to to live sometimes remember? Did I not try to teach you to eat grubs one time.”

“Yeah, I recalled I couldn’t do it...I ate the C-rations from World War I instead,” Napoleon laughed. “Well the after effects weren’t too pleasant so I suppose I should have forced myself to eat the grubs anyway.

“Napoleon, right now what I would give for some grubs.”

“I know buddy, but we’re going to get out of here and once you’re strong enough I’ll treat you to the biggest steak dinner you’ve ever had, and that’s a solemn promise.

“I will hold you to that my friend. In the mean time if I may lean up against you for a little warmth, plus simple human contact would be most welcome.”

“Sure buddy, come on.”

Illya skooched beside his friend and Napoleon instictively wrapped his arm around the man’s shoulders. He felt his partner lay his head down against his chest with a sigh.

“If I die Napoleonl; I am glad it will be with you at my side.”

“You’re not going to die buddy, so knock off that fatalistic attitude. Get some sleep and when it’s daylight...we’re outta here.”

There was no answer, but Napoleon could hear the soft breathing of the Russian. He was asleep, no doubt of exhaustion and the American joined him shortly thereafter.

Napoleon had little shoteye during the night, as Illya was quite talkative in his sleep. It was all in Russian, not much the American could understand and seemed to be just snippets of conversation. It seemed his partner was talking to a cat, then a girl named Irina.**

Solo reminded himself to inquire about that once the Russian was awake.

As the rays of light began to barely shine through the one window in the basement and down through the grate; Napoleon roused himself, and Illya.

‘Come on buddy. Rise and shine buddy, time to go home.”

“Mmmm,” Illya answered but was groggy. “Morning already?”

“Yep, now let’s go take a look at that grate,” Napoleon said.

“It is too far my friend,”Illya coughed, his breath a little raspy.”Trust me I checked. It is not possible for a man to get up there with out the proper tools, of which we have none...am I correct in assuming that?”

“Yes you are, but you said it’s not possible for one man to make it up there. How about two?Illya how wide do you estimate the entrance to be?”

“No more than six feet in circumference.”

“So two men could..”

“Ahhhh, I see what you are thinking, If I stand on your shoulders, I can hike myself up and then work my way along the wall.” Kuryakin smiled for the first time in a very long while.

Illya did exactly that, after climbing up on his partner’s shoulders he wedged his back against one side of the tunnel and his feet against the other; little by little he worked his way up. He paused several times to catch his breath, finding the task especially exhausing in his weakened state. Finally he reached the grate, and after several pushes, he was able shove it up and open.

Though it seemed like a gargantuan task, Illya pulled himself up and onto the basement floor. He remained there for a few minutes, exhausted by the effort.

“You okay tovarisch.”

“Fine.”

“Yeah right. Seriously are you all right?”

Illya huffed,”Under the circumstances, yes. Just give me a moment to catch my breath.” He remained on the floor for a few minutes, and when his head finally stopped spinning, he slowly got to his feet. A quick survey of the room revealed nothing that seemed of use for him to get Napoleon out of the oubliette.

Then he saw it, coiled up and hidden on the lower shelf of the stainless table were heavy cloth straps, leading him to think he and Napoleon were not the first victims held prisoner down here.

He unraveled them, and tying the ends together while adding some periodic knots; he deemed it of sufficient length to lower to Solo and enable him to climb out. If Illya had to pull his partner to safety, he doubted he would have the strength.

“Here, I am sending this down to you,” he called. “You will have to pull yourself up as I do not think I can hold your weight.”

“You saying I’m fat?”

“Please, it not time for any playful banter.”

“Fine, I rescue you and you turn all grumpy on me. Okay, toss it down.”

“Look out below,” Illya called. “Let me tie off the end.” He knotted the other end of the strap to the heavy newell post on the staircase.

He pulled at it a few times, and when satisfied, he called to Napoleon.

Minutes later the American appeared at the opening, grinning from ear to ear but only for a brief second. Seeing Illya in the brighter light was upsetting, as the man looked worse than he first thought.

“Do me a favor partner mine, don’t look in a mirror for awhile.”

“I was not planning on it. Now might we get out of here...I am really, really hungry for that steak you promised me."

“Only you would think of food at a time like this.”

“Fine, I would like to see what you have to say after spending who knows how long in that hell hole. Would you liked to go back there? I think I have enough strength left to put you there.”

Napoleon chuckled at his partner’s seriousness. “Yeah right, you and whose army. Illya I have a feeling if I just looked twice at you, you’d fall over. Now enough talk, let’s get out of here.”

Solo led as they made their way up the staircase, leading into a darkened hallway. There was no sound or sign of life and when they exited a door, Napoleon recognized where he was.

It was the original showcase room, except this time there were no coffins there. It looked as though the place had been abandoned as one of the pedestals that had held a vase with flowers was knocked over;  with pieces of the shattered container and flowers scattered on the floor.

They made it out the door and to Solo’s surprise, his car was still there.

“Come on buddy, we’re almost home free.” He turned to face Illya and watched as the Russian simply crumpled to the ground.

“Oh crap,” Napoleon muttered,” heading immediately to his partner’s side, and scooping him up in his arms. It was then he realized how much weight Illya had lost. He checked the Russian’s pulse and thankfully it was strong enough.

A few seconds later Illya came to.” Sorry, I feel as weak as a kitten.”

“Speaking of kittens...who are Kaska and Irina?”

Illya flashed him that ‘none of your business’ look.

“Fine be that way,” Napoleon jabbed. He quickly laid his partner down in the back of the car. “Now stay put and take it easy.”

Relieved the keys were still in the ignition; Napoleon started it, and spun the car around, heading out along the gravel drive and past the gates, all the while looking in his rearview mirror to see if they were being followed.

Once he was sure no one was behind them, he pulled over. Checking the glove compartment, and breathing a sigh of relief; he found his backup communicator and gun were still there.

“Open channel D-Solo.” He glanced to the back seat, seeing Illya's eyes were open, but looked glazed and distant.

“Yes Mr. Solo,” Waverly responded promptly.” I was beginning to become concerned when you missed your check-in.”

“Ah, yes, sir I was a little tied up, but the good news is that I have found Mr. Kuryakin…”

“Excellent news, though I hear a ‘but’ Mr. Solo.”

“The culprit behind Illya’s disappearance was Labé sir. Apparently he escaped from Scotland yard and well, he attempted to exact revenge against Mr. Kuryakin and myself for foiling his plans.”

“Hmmm, that is most perplexing. I fear we will not be hearing the last of Mr. Labé as I have a communication from him, stating that you and Mr. Kuryakin were his prisoners and if we wished to see you alive and returned to us, then were were to turn over his confiscated artwork. Of couse we told him no.”

“Oh course,” Napoleon smiled. “Sir Mr. Kuryakin is going to need medical attention, food and some good old-fashioned TLC.”

“Yes indeed, I see by your signal that you are in the vicinity of our Washington office. Are you able to make it or should we send a retrieval?”

“No sir, I think Mr. Kuryakin can hang in until we get there.”

“Very well then. I shall expect your report upon arrival. Out.”

Cut and dried as usual, and as always, Napoleon dismissed Waverly’s abruptness. There were only two things on his mind at the moment, one was getting Illya to a hospital  and the other was Gairovald Mephisto-Labé..

Once the man became aware they were alive there would be a lot of having to look over their shoulders, well, perhaps more than usual.

At the moment, Napoleon gritted his teeth, figuring he would cross that bridge when he came to it...

 

* ref  PicFic ["Stalling for Time" ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10041227/1/Stalling-for-time)on Fanfiction.net/mlaw

  
** ref[ "Beginnings" ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6767104/1/Beginnings)-Fanfiction.new/mlaw  
  
*** ref ["See the Pyramids along the Nile Affair"](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7169861/1/The-See-the-Pyramids-Along-the-Nile-Affair) -Fanfiction.net/mlaw


	3. Chapter 3

  
                                    

 

Napoleon was nearly cross-eyed as he sat in the chair next to his partner's hospital bed. The steady beat of the heart monitor had an almost hypnotic effect, though the American agent fought against the pulsating sound to keep from falling asleep. He needed to be awake just in case Illya needed him.

The medical staff told him it was unnecessary, as Washington D.C. headquarters was as well equipped as New York's medical facilites and the Russian was receiving excellent care.

Illya wasn't awake to appreciate that fact, or perhaps it was better he wasn't awake yet as the man and hospitals didn't exactly get along.

Napoleon wasn't fond of hospital stays himself, but he made do by flirting with the nursing staff. Not Illya though. If he were awake, there'd be yelling, cursing in Russian and assorted other languages. Food trays and anything else within arm's length might be hurled as Illya's impatience would get the better of him. Though there was a 50/50 chance he'd be calm instead, one never knew with the wiley Soviet.

That was the only time Kuryakin ever lost his cool, otherwise the nick name given him when he first arrived at UNCLE...and that was the Ice Prince, always seemed fitting enough.

New York Medical was accustomed to Illya's cantankerous ways, but down here Napoleon hoped there'd be no antagonizing the help. That was something Illya was quite good at, among his many other talents to irritate people.

Solo rubbed his face with one hand taking a sip from his now cold cup of coffee that he finally put down in disgust.

A nurse stuck her head through the door, smiling at him.

"Sugar, I wish ya'll would just go to bed for a bit. He's in good hands, and we'll call when he wakes up."

Solo looked at his friend, seeing so many tubes attached to him...one for fluids, another for antibiotics, and a morphine drip. The physicians wanted to insert a feeding tube, but Napoleon fought them on that one. Illya would have no trouble eating once he came to; right now the most important thing was that the Russian was resting peacefully.

He had seen his partner delirious and half-starved before but to have been deprived of any viable source of sunlight and fresh air for so long had taken it's toll on the Russian as well. Illya's normally placid face was paler than usual, more gaunt with the weight loss and those dark circles around his eyes made him look almost skeletal; every once in a while Kuryakin would grimace, as though he were in pain or perhaps having a bad dream.

He suddenly gasped, calling out in Russian. His arms began to flail as if he were tyring to keep something away from himself.

_"Neyeet ! Poluchit' ot menya! Ostanovit' kusat'sya mne, pozhaluysta_get away from me! Stop biting me please! Krysy! Derzhite ikh podal'she ot menya . Derzhite ikh podal'she . Oni yedyat mne Papa! Papa, gde ty?_

All the bells and whistles began to go off as Illya became more agitated, prompting the nurse to act; she pulled a syringe, preparing to inject a sedative.

Napoleon understood now. His partner was dreaming he was being attacked by rats, and was calling out for his father."

Solo leaned forward, whispering in Russian."It's all right. I'm here and you're safe. Focus on my voice...you're safe and I'm watching over you."

Illya slowly relaxed, with his sleep being calm once again. The heart monitor settled as back to a normal sinus rhythm.

"I don't think that'll be necessary. He's all right now. It was just a bad dream." Napoleon breathed a sigh of relief.

"Ya'll understood what he was saying?"

"Yes, he was talking about being attacked by rats….which you know from the bites on his body he had a nasty run-in with them." That was all the American would say about what had happened to his partner, the rest was really none of her business.

She nodded, recapping the needle and returning it to her pocket. She checked Illya's vitals and found them all within normal parameters.

"Well that was pretty amazing,"she said. "Are you sure though I can't convince you to go get some sleep. You'll be no good to him if you can't stand on your own two feet."

"No Charlotte, Mr. Kuryakin and I have a mutual pact and that's to be at each other's side when one of us wakes. I'm not going to break with tradition just because I'm tired and as you saw, it helped that I was here to calm him. I tell you what you can do for me, and that's get me a fresh cup of hot coffee...black please. That is if you don't mind. I know that's not your job, but I'd really appreciate it."

"How could I refuse such a gallant gentleman. Would you like a slice of hot apple pie to go with that? We just brought some upstairs from the commissary."

Napoleon flashed her a genuine smile of gratitude, one that would make any woman's heart melt. He sighed deeply, "That would be great, thank you."

"I'll be right back with everything," Charlotte returned his smile with one of her own.

Minutes later the nurse returned with a tray, setting it on the bed table beside Napoleon.

"Sure you don't want to lay down after you eat?"

He chuckled at her hovering over him. "I'll be fine, thanks."

Napoleon took a long sip of his coffee. "Nothing like the odor of coffee to stimulate the senses, and intermingled with that of the apple pie made him suddenly feel downright relaxed.

Just as he put a forkful of pie to his mouth, a familiar voice spoke up.

"Is that apple pie I smell?"

"Sure is chum, want some?"

"Yes please?" Illya's voice was tiny, almost child-like.

"Just give me a sec buddy. Let's prop you up." Napoleon helped his partner slowly sit up, tucking extra pillows behind his back."

He offered a small mouthful of the pie, feeding Illya as if he was a toddler, sitting there with his mouth open like a little bird and watched as his partner rolled his eyes, savoring the flavor.

"Mmm, good."

"Can you handle more? This might be a bit heavy for your stomach...I wouldn't want you to lose it," Napoleon gently spoke.

_"Da, bol'she, pozhaluysta_yes, more please?"_

Before long the apple pie was gone for the most part; Napoleon reserving the crust for himself as he figured it might be too coarse for Illya to handle.

"How's that pie Sugar?" The nurse said as she walked in the room; spying Napoleon feeding it to the patient.

"Oh Lord, I don't know if that's such a good idea. Mr. Kuryakin's stomach may not be able to handle that."

"Mr. Kuryakin has cast iron stomach and will be judge of that,"Illya announced, his accent unusually heavy. "How do you do, my name is Illya."

"And welcome back Illya. I'm your nurse, Charlotte Beauford. I'll let your doctor know you're awake." She quickly checked his pulse, his pupilary responses."How do you feel?"

"Tired but very hungry. May I have something, and please no jello I beg you...and something more than broth perhaps?"

"Yeah but no  _Ratatouille_ ," Napoleon snickered.

She looked at him like he had two heads. "We don't serve anything called that here."

Illya tried smiling, getting his partner's joke, though he said nothing.

"That Mr. Kuryakin, I'll have to check with your doctor. Now Napoleon I'll have to ask ya'll to let the patient rest...and ya'll need to get some yourself as your work here is done for now. We have an empty bed down the hall and I suggest it best to take advantage of it now that your partner has awakened?"

"Yes Ma'am," Solo saluted her. "Just give me a few minutes with Illya before you evict me."

"Fine, but only a few minutes for both your sakes." She silently spun around on her heel, heading out in search of the physician on duty.

Napoleon leaned forward, scooching his chair closer as he rested his elbows on his thighs, clasping his hands together.

"You feel up to talking."

"Yes but first may I have a drink of water? My mouth feels as though an army has marched through it."

"Sure pal," the American poured a glass of water from the pitcher, offering it to see if Illya could handle it himself.

He took it, though his hand was a little shaky, and downed the water in several gulps. "Spacibo my friend."

"More?"

"No that will suffice for now."

"Okay, can you tell me what happened? Mr. Waverly is anxious to find out."

"He is aware that it was Labé?"

"Yes and would you believe after he dumped you and then me into that oubliette, Labé had the nerve to try and ransom us in return for his former art collection. Of course the Old Man refused."

"But of course,"Illya broke a shy smile, coughing slightly."Apparently he is unaware of the Command's policy of not paying ransoms, as we agents are considered expendible. And even if Waverly agreed, you and I were as good as dead men, Mr. Mephisto- Labé would have never surrendered us."

"No, I got that chum. It was all about revenge from the get go. You know we're going to have to look over our shoulders for this one until he's taken care of...permanently."

Kuryakin shrugged, coughing harder this time. "What else is new?"

"True, true. So tell me what happened...how did he get you?"

Illya's eyes glazed over, giving Napoleon the impression his partner didn't want to talk about it.

"It was rookie mistake," Kuryakin admitted. "I was returning on foot to our headquarters in Washington when I was stopped by an old woman who asked me to help get her cat out of a tree. How could I refuse her?"

"Seriously, you stopped to rescue a cat Illya?" Napoleon was being rather sarcastic, but then given his aversion to cats, that wasn't surprising.

"No…(cough) I was helping an old lady in distress. When I attmepted to climb the tree to get the cat, I was darted. That was the last thing I recalled until I woke up in the oubliette. Labé called to me, telling me where I was and that I was going to die there as payment for refusing to give him the information he wanted," Illya took a deep breath, coughing more heavily this time. "Napoleon it became oppressive there."

"I know chum, and I was there only a short time."

"At first I tried to reach the entrance, but that was of course impossible. I explored the tunnels, keeping track of which way I turned so as to be able to get back to the light. There was plenty of water, and after what I guess was a week...I was forced to start catching rats with my bare hands."

"You told me you'd eaten rat when you were a child…" *

"Yes but those were cooked over a campfire. It was as if this time I had become an animal myself...it was awful. I became an wild thing in the darkness." Illya became visibly upset; starting to cough again.

Napoleon tried slapping him on the back as the cough and accompanying congestion seemed worse.

At that moment Dr. Westerman walked into the room.

"Ah Mr. Kuryakin, glad you are awake." He walked over to the bed, immediately examining Illya's throat and glands, and listened to his breathing with a stethoscope.

"Well I have good news and bad news, which do you want first?"

Both Illya and his partner flashed him dirty looks.

"Hmm, I forgot how you New York agents can be… well your test results are back. You have a severe bacterial infection in your lungs...yes pneumonia. You're very much underweight and have the normal complications associated with malnutriton and dehytration. You are also quite anemic. The bites on your hands and legs were also severely infected but luckily there was no sign of rabies or plague. Very very lucky on your part."

"And the good news is…" Napoleon interrupted.

"The good news is Mr. Kuryakin will live," Dr. Westerman smiled, thinking he was being jovial but his lighthearted attempt at humor fell flat as the agents again scowled at him.

"When many I leave here Doctor?" Illya asked.

Dr. Westerman was not surprised at that question. "Sooner than you think Mr. Kuryakin. We've started you on a course of broad spectrum antibiotics, as well as B12 shots, and iron supplements, so once you begin to show signs of improvement we'll be shipping you to the UNCLE sanitarium in upstate New York to complete your rehabilitation. As I said, you're very underweight and suffering from malnutrition, and those conditions need to be addressed as well. You've suffered a physical and emotional trauma and simply need time to recover your health."

"But…"

"No arguments. This has been cleared with Mr. Waverly and to use his exact words, "Mr. Kuryakin is not to be permitted to coax, cajole, wheedle or threaten his way out of his recuperation under any circumstances. And Mr. Solo is not to try to sneak his partner out of Medical."

"That settles that," Napoleon grinned, trying to cover his embarrassment at being indirectly called out by his boss.

"No one asked for your two rubles worth," Illya snapped at him.

"Hey you have my sympathies chum, trust me. Now if you'll forgive me, a bed is calling my name and I need to get some shuteye. Glad you're back among us," Solo winked before exiting the hospital room, leaving the physician to continue his examination.

Once in the corridor and out of earshot of his partner, Napoleon pulled his communicator.

"Open Channel D- Waverly."

"Yes Mr. Solo. I understand Mr. Kuryakin is awake," the CCO answered.

Napoleon shook his head for a second, amazed the Old Man already knew about Illya. "Yes sir, he seems to be his normal self, impatient to get out of Medical."

"Hmm, yes quite. And how did he take the news about the Sanitarium?"

"Surprisingly well. Sir I have a request. I have some time off coming to me and would like to schedule it while Mr. Kuryakin is recovering upstate."

"Mr. Solo, please. He does not need a mother hen coddling him in his recovery. Mr. Kuryakin is a grown man, quite capable of…"

 "Excuse me sir, it's not my attention to mother him but rather to watch out for him. Mephisto-Labé is still out there and no doubt he's become aware Mr. Kuryakin and myself escaped the oubliette. My instincts are telling me he's going to make another attempt on Mr. Kuryakin's life, and no doubt mine as well. This time, however, I plan to be ready."

"No need to use your vacation time young man, consider this an assignment. If you had let me finish before you rudely interrupted my, I would have informed you I was putting you on protection duty, as it were for, Mr. Kuryakin. That being said, you also need some protection as Mr. Mephisto-Labé will be coming after you as well. I am assigning Slate and Dancer as your protection detail."

"Yes sir, and my apolgies for the interruption." He knew better than to challenge Waverly, and backup in fact be would most welcome.

"Very well. I will inform them of the assignment and have you rendezvous with you for the trip from Washington to upstate New York. Waverly out."

Napoleon tucked away his communicator, heading off to that bed for some well-earned sleep. In the morning he'd consult with Dr. Westerman as to the approximate time frame within which Illya would be ready for travel.

.

Later that evening, Solo returned to his partner's bedside. He was drowsy, most likely due to sedatives he'd been given. Still lllya seemed more tranquil, proving that he'd taken the medication instead of refusing it as he usually did.

"So _tovarisch,_  haven't palmed your pills huh?" Napoleon sat down in the chair beside the bed that seemed to be waiting there for him, and him alone.

"Palmed," Illya slurred, "No chance to do that as they….they are injecting medication into my IV. I think New York must have clued them innnn."

"Or maybe chum your reputation just precedes you. Dr. Westerman told me you're going to be moved to the Sanitorium at the end of the week. It's been arranged with Waverly that I'll be going with you as will April and Mark."

That pair of blue eyes, slightly glazed over, widened. "Why?"

"Come on pal, you're at risk in your condition. There's no way Ghairovald Mephisto-Labé won't take advantage of the situation and try to finish you off. You've excaped death twice at his hands may I remind you, and you know what they say about three."

"Yes I know three is charm, and may I remind you as well that you too escaped death twice...first in car explosion, and in oubliette."

"And that's why Mr. Waverly insisted on Mark and April backing me up."

What could Illya say? There was no refuting the situation or the need for protection. He was in no condition to defend himself should Labé make another attempt on his life. He would be safer in headquarters, though they weren't equipped to handle an agent who needed long term care. No, the Sanitarium was the next best place….with a somewhat defendable position, to say the least.

There was internal security, and the property was fenced in like a military base, but still anyone with skills could get inside if they wanted to badly enough…

Illya realized he would be a prisoner again, in a much kinder oubliette, but still a place that had but one way in for the moment, until he was deemed fit to return to duty.

The Russian remembered a brief poem he'd read somewhere….

_"The threshold of my Rubicon, a thousand times been crossed! For though I've lost I've also won at such a dire cost. Locked inside my oubliette, covered in frost, I cannot feel. I pace and fret, and shan't forget- I am but a cog in a greater wheel…" **_

_._

 * ref "Beginnings"

** 'Rubicons and Oubliettes' by Just that Archaic Poet 

 


	4. Chapter 4

                                      
  
  
Napoleon stood by as his partner was moved from his bed to a gurney. At first the Russian protested such treatment, yanking his arm from the helping hand that was trying to steady him he slid from the side of the bed to the waiting conveyance.

Illya, vascillated from demanding to walk to a consiliatory request to a wheel chair, until he fianally resigned himself to riding downstairs on the stretcher where his chariot awaited him at the street level. There an U.N.C.L.E. ambulance was parked near the entrance to the hospital emergency room.

It was equipped with the standard equipment, a heart montior, an oxygen tank, and other medical equipment deemed necessary for the trip, all manned by trained emergency medical personnel from the Command.

  
It wasn’t until Illya was threatened with being sedated for the duration of the trip to New York, that he finally shut up and cooperated.  Napoleon chuckled, reminding himself to remember that one, as threatening to sleep dart his partner might work in the future should he become too ornery.  


Napoleon would ride in the ambulance with him; making sure the Russian’s reading glasses and several scientific journals were brought along, as well as some fruit and other healthy snacks to tide of the bottomless pit that was Illya’s stomach.

Though the doctors had him on a high calorie diet that would have made the average person put on pounds, Illya only gained ounces. That made them concerned and along with the pneumonia still making it’s presence known, the decision for the gurney and ambulance was made.

 Mark Slate and April Dancer having already visited briefly with the patient, waited outside in their escort sedan and would be the lead vehicle in a mini-convoy; with second pair of Section III agents in another car bringing up the rear for the nearly eight hour drive to Albany NY, where the Sanitarium was located.

 There were planned stops included in that travel time, for meals bathroom breaks as well as just giving the patient time for some breathing treatments while stationary rather than in a moving vehcile.  This would allow the escorts to just get out and stretch their legs, though they’d still be on constant lookout for Mephisto-Labé.

The first stop would be nearly two hours later at Wilmington Delaware, from there they’d travel to headquarters in New York where Illya would be examined and given a breathing treatment. Depending upon how well he was physically dealing with traveling, they would either continue on to Albany or stay the night in headquarters and rest up.

Solo, though hoping Illya would handle the trip well, wished they’d stay at headquarters just for security's sake not revealing what time they’d leave the next day or the even the day after that as they began the final three hour leg of their trip to Albany and thereby throwing off Labé if he was indeed following them. 

Eveything was set and April called Napoleon on his communicator.

“Ready when you are darling. How’s our patient doing?”

Illya lifted his oxygen mask from his face to speak. “The patient is impatient, now may we get this over with as quickly as possible?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist mate, “Mark spoke up,”' be there in two shakes of a lambs tail.”

“Mark, I am not wearking any knickers, just this ridiculous hospital gown.”

“Too much information guv,” Mark laughed.

“Mmm, I don’t know Mark, I sort of like that visual,” April chimed in on the conversation.

“Enough lechery April,” Napoleon chastised.” Let’s get going, as we have a testy Russian here.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Solo sir,” April joked.

“Hey partner, I thought you weren’t happy about going to the Sanitarium? Why so anxious to get there now?”

“I did not say I was anxious to get there. I am, however, looking forward to getting to headquarters. Maybe, just maybe I can convince Waverly to let me stay there.””

“Good luck on that you little conniver you,”Solo chuckled.

The car engines started, and slowly the lead car pulled up the ramp leading away from the hospital.

“We going to use the lights Mr. Solo?” The ambulance driver called back.

“No John let’s not draw any undue attention to us than necessary."

One by one the three vehicles drove out to the exit. Two black sedans with a powder blue and white ambulance sandwiched between them as they zig-zagged through the intricate street patterns of the District of Columbia, heading towards 295 that would take them through Maryland and up into Delaware.

Napoleon sat reasuringly beside his partner as the medical tech checked Illya’s blood pressure, casting a strained glance at the CEA.

“What’s wrong?”

“His blood pressure is up Mr. Solo.”

Once again Illya lifted the oxygen mask from his face to speak. “That is because you are annoying me. Must I be hooked up to this bloody machinery?” He barked as best he could.

“Look tovarisch, you need to relax and let the man do his job….you don’t like it when anyone interferes in something you have to do right? And, the machinery has to be on whether you like it or not, so quit your complaining.  Before you know it we’ll be in Albany, and you’ll be in a comfortable bed surrounded by pretty nurses waiting hand and foot on you.”

This time Illya didn’t touch the mask, muffling his words. “That is your fantasy not mine my friend.”

Napoleon snickered,"Yeah, you’re right. Okay, so you’re surrounded by a bunch of science geeks who’ve developed a new explosives compound.”

“That is more like it,” Illya acutally smiled.

The conversation was kept at a minimum for the ride to Wilmington, and as Napoleon expected Illya slept for most of the two hour ride. His partner’s heart rate and breathing were steady; monitored carefully by the tech. Larry listened for any signs of congestion, and noted the Russian’s breathing was becoming a bit rough. It would be time for a breathing treatment when they arrived at their next stop. 

“We’re here darlings, time to take a lunch break,”Aprils voice crooned over the communicator.

The cars and ambulance eased to a stop and Napoleon called softly to his partner.

“Hey sleeping beauty, time to wake up. You need to eat and…?”

“Yes Mr. Solo, he needs a breathing treatment too,’” the tech chimed in. “You' ll stay with me while I have to do it right?”  The man was definitely afraid of the Russian, even in his weakened state.

“Don’t be so nervous Larry, Illya doesn’t bite...that often.”  The look on the Larry's face was priceless.  
  
“Seriously, he doesn’t and yes I’ll stay with you, not to worry.”

 Illya finally opened his eyes. “Are we there yet?”

 “Patience patience my dear Bolshevick buddy, this is just our first rest stop.”

“That is Communist not Bolshevik, how many times must I tell you that? Bol'shevizm  was the forerunner to Communism and before my time. Now do I get to eat and not just a piece of friut?”

“Yes you do, but first a breathing treatment with Larry here.”

“Fine,” Illya crossed his arms in front of his chest, submitting himself to the tech's ministrations.

There was a coded knock at the rear of the ambulance and Solo opened the door. It was Mark.

“Hey mate, Sent the Section three’s into the diner to eat, April and me will go next and then we’ll take over while you go into eat and get..”

“No, just bring something out for Illya, nothing for me thanks. I’m staying here with him. Once his breathing treatment is done, the tech and driver can go take a break.”

“Suit yourself.”

“What should we bring darling?”

“Just a burger rare, fries, and tea.”  
  
"Seriously a hamberger and fries? Isn't that a bit heavy for him?"  
  
"You forget our friend's cast-iron stomach, and a single burger and fries is a light meal for Illya," Napoleon answered.

The Russian stared at him, wide-eyed while taking his treatment.

“Oh and yes, apple pie, don’t forget that whatever you do,” he smiled.

All the shifting around was done, the food brought out for Kuryakin and when it was nearly finished Napoleon ordered them to be on their way.

The next leg of the journey would take them up I-95 and in just over two more hours they’d be in headquarters in New York.  There they could breath a temporary sigh of relief, until it was time again to leave for Albany.  That part of the trip Solo deemed to be the most dangerous, as ihis instincts told him somehow Labé would be waiting for them somewhere along the way.

It was a short while later that an unscheduled stop was made. John the ambulance driver said he was feeling a little drowsy after eating and needed to pull over for some fresh air.

Napoleon pulled his commumicator. “Channel F- April?” There was no answer. He tried signalling the other car but received only static in responce.

He suddenly realized that Larry was asleep, as was Illya and the driver John. Not just asleep but out cold.

“Shit,” he cursed, pulling his gun from its holster. Obviously something was going down, he just didn’t know what.

Best not to get out of the vehicle as he’d make himself a target. He’d wait them out, pretend he was asleep...he was hoped Mark and April as well as the others were just asleep and not dead.

He heard footsteps outside and waited, his gun hidden in the folds of his jacket.

The door opened slowly, and Napoleon raised his Walther slightly, pointing it right at…

He never saw who it was, or got off a shot as some sort of miniature gas canister was tossed inside, filling the back of the ambulance with green smoke.

  

“Mark?” April yawned, poking her partner in the side.”Wake up darling.”

“Good Lord, I couldn’t keep my eyes open,” the Brit responded.

“Where are we? Any idea? And most importantly what happened?"

Still on 295 from the looks of it. Can’t be far from the diner we stopped at.

“Do you think the food was drugged? Could it have been…”

He didn’t let her finish; pulling out his communicator he tried to contact Napoleon.

“Channel F-Solo. You there mate?”

Nothing, only static.

The two agents quickly stepped out of their car, finding the other sedan parked behind them, but the ambulance was nowhere in sight. The driver and medical technician were laying nearby on the roadside.

April immediately went to them, checking their pulses, not sure if they were dead or alive.

“Thank God, they’re just asleep.”

 She proceeded to gently tap them on their faces, waking them up. They had no recollection as to what happened, other than suddenly feeling very sleepy.

Mark proceeded to the sedan, finding the other agents in the same shape.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, pulling his corduroy hat from his head and running his fingers through his hair. Snapping his fingers, he opened his communicator again, checking for a homing signal. Again, to his disappointment, nothing.

“Wait darling, I have my communicator set to a different frequency,”April said.

“What signal would that be?”

“Illya put a tracking device in Napoleon’s star sapphire ring a while ago, and I have it set for that. As long as it’s not too far away, I should be able to pick it up.”

She smiled as a steady blip came from the communicator, “They’re headed north and not too far...within five miles as that’s the maximum range of the homing disc.

 Marks eyes went wide. “Let’s go then luv before we lose that bloody signal!”

The other agents remained behind to take care of John and Larry while Slate and Dancer hurried off after their quarry.  Mark contacted headquarters, informing Waverly of what had transpired while they sped along the interstate following the signal as the Brit floored the gas pedal.

“What the duce? I sent you and the other agents just to prevent such a thing from happening.” The tone of the boss’s voice indicated he was none to happy about Solo and Kuryakin being taken again.

“Find them Mr. Slate and quickly. We cannot lose our two best agents to this madman. If we do, it will create an open season on U.N.C.L.E. agents. Once T.H.R.U.S.H. knows Solo and Kuryakin are out of the way they’ll feel empowered to go after you and Miss Dancer and the rest of Section II around the world.”

 “Yes sir, we understand,” Slate out.

The signal took the agents to a small private airport, but they had arrived too late as they found the amulance abandoned on the runway with a private jet having just taken off.

After some pursuasive discussion, the were able to get the flight plan  and discovered the plane, registered to Labé, was headed for Shannon Airport in Ireland.

Waverly was contacted again, with headquarters making arrangements for the two agents to use another Learjet at the airport, and within the hour  a flightplan was logged with Slate and Dancer winging their way to the Emerald Isle.

As Mark piloted the plane, he spoke to his parter, still somewhat incredulous of their situation.

“If you had told me we’d be flying to Ireland this morning, I would have said you were bloody mad,” his voice seemed hollow coming through the microphone.

“That’s why I love this job,”April smiled,”One just never knows what’s going to happen from day to day...much less moment to moment. I just wish we weren’t on a rescue mission.”

“Agreed luv. I  hope we get to them in time. Who knows what that madman has in store for them.  I mean he’s going to a bit of touble hauling them off to Ireland isn’t he?”

“The operative word is ‘madman’, darling. There’s no way to rationalize or predict the behaviour of a such a person.”

“So true luv. Why don’t you relax and get some sleep. I’ll have you take over if I get a bit banjaxed.”

“I don’t know if I can do that right now; I’m just a bit upset about all this. We let ourselves get drugged and lost them. I feel like this is our fault... we just have to save them Mark.”

“I know, really I do, but it wasn’t our fault. You pointed out there’s no way to predict the behavior of a madman.  So close your eyes and try, for me luv?””

April let out a long sigh.” All right goose, just for you.”

She closed her eye, feigning sleep at first but finally the exhaustion of the day took her and Dancer fell into a restless sleep.

Her dreams became the stuff nightmares were made of, at least to her.

She watched in horror as Napoleon suffered and died and could do nothing to stop it. There was a special place in her heart fo Solo as she and the man had once been lovers...and now he was gone.  Illya, where was her friend Illya?

April ran in the darkness looking for him, her eyes filled with tears but there was no sign, until she saw blood, lots and lots of blood.

“How God no? This was my fault,” she cried out.

“April...APRIL wake up.”

She opened her eyes, clearing her vision with a few blinks.

“You all right luv? Nightmare?”

“Uh-huh.

Slate knew better than to ask the detail. He had nighmares too sometimes, and pretty much every Section II agent did, it was part and parcel to the job.

The terrors they all witnessed had to affect them; most internalized them and it came out in their dreams...others sought help with the psych department, some that is.

A few agents eventually lost it and were deprogrammed, being sent out to pasture...and periodically there were agents who had to be confined in an asylum for their own protection.

Slate hoped it would never come to that for him or his partner…

“Mark dear are you ready for me to take over?  I honestly don’t want to sleep anymore.”

“Not yet April. With the way I’m feeling, I don’t think I want to sleep just yet either.”

“Feeling a bit guilty?”

Slate simply nodded as he continued to watch the horizon.

  
“Me too darling, me too.”


	5. Chapter 5

         

Napoleon slowly became aware of his surroundings. He was tied up; seated in an ornate, high-backed carved wooden chair.  Turning his head slowly from side to side, he saw he was in a large banquet hall; the walls covered with tapestries depicting Medieval scenes, along with countless hunting trophies of glass-eyed boar and deer heads.

There was nothing cheerful or warming about the room, as he noted two rather ferocious-looking gargoyle statues standing guard on either side of a large mantle that dominated the far wall; though there was a sizeable fire burning in the hearth, it did little to ward off the damp chill in the air.

Paintings dotted the other walls, some of which Solo recognized as works by several of the great masters and the last item of note was a grand piano nestled in one corner of the room, with the requisite silver candelabra gracing it’s shiny black top...all clues as to whose place this was. 

Ghairovald Mephisto-Labé did have a flair for the dramatic, that was a given.

Napoleon could see though an oversized window, the only source of natural light, and the view through it was spectacular.  A wild blue ocean, with waves breaking over a rocky shoreline at the bottom of a cliff, seagulls and what looked like Atlantic puffins glided through the air, some looking as if they were suspended in time as they hung in the sky, riding the air currents.

“Welcome Mr. Solo.”  It was Labé of course, no surprise there.

“That depends on where we are.”

“Oh excuse me, welcome to my humble abode. A little castle by the sea in Donegal Ireland. It’s quite remote, so no one disturbs me. Mephisto-Labé stepped into view, wearing a green paisley smoking jacket, with a crystal goblet of dark wine in his hand.

Napoleon cut right to the chase. “Where’s Illya?”

Labé laughed, taking a sip of wine before speaking.

“Ah déjà vu, Mr. Solo, déjà vu. That’s a question you’ve asked me before, isn’t it?”

“Cut the crap. Where is he?”

“Oh don’t fret, he’s being well taken care of. He’s on his oxygen and medications for now under the care of my private nurse.”

 “You don’t need to do this you know.  If you let us go, I can just forget where you are and you can continue to live on in your private little world.”

Again Labé laughed, placing his wine glass on the heavy dining table.

“Do you think you can bargain with me? Very few know of this place, much less the fact that I own it. The local populace are an ignorant superstitious lot, thinking it haunted and avoid it like the proverbial plague.  No Mr. Solo, you’re here to stay for as long as I let you live.  Your partner however is another story. Given the fact he’s so ill and in a weakened state, there’s no guaranteeing he will survive the damp conditions here.”

“Come on Labé, what happened to you was justifiable. You stole artwork that belonged to the world, and deserved to pay for your crimes. Illya and I were only doing our jobs to bring you to justice and return the art to the rightful owners.  There was nothing personal against you.”

“Nothing personal? I hardly think that. You and your Russian friend were determined to destroy my way of life and take my treasures from me. My precious, beautiful objets d’art.  I loved them, cherished them...appreciated their beauty like no one else. They were were mine and I deserved to have them!”

Labé rambled on, not even looking at Solo, as if he were speaking to some unseen presence.

“You truly are mad and U.N.C.L.E. is going to stop you. Even if my partner and I don’t live to see it happen, I guarantee it will. You’ll be caught in the end and punished for your thievery and murderous ways.”

Labé backhanded the American across the face, slicing into Napoleon’s cheekbone with his ring.

“Don’t threaten me, you pompous little man. I am the great Ghairovald Mephisto-Labé and no one can best me, not even your high and mighty U.N.C.L.E.”

There was no reasoning with the man, Napoleon knew that now.

“May I see my partner?” He deflected; changing the subject.

“Why of course, forgive me.” Labé’s tone of voice softened as if a switch had been flicked.  “Yes, visit with your Russian friend and then you must join me for dinner. As a reminder, you can’t escape of course, so don’t even try. You see the entire castle is controlled electronically, with this.”

Labé held up a small remote, waving it in the air. “I have a state of the art security system, controlling the doors and windows...well window. You see this is the only window in the entire castle, all the others as well as every exit except the main one have been bricked up and sealed.

Napoleon’s bonds were loosened, and he rubbed his wrists once freed of the coarse rope.

“You will notice there is a cuff attached to your right ankle Mr. Solo. It is a security device that will prevent you from attacking me, if you do, you will feel a rather substantial jolt of electricity.”

Napoleon guessing he was close enough to try to lunge for the man disregarded the warning, and dove towards him from the chair.

He crumpled to the floor in an instant, as the electric shock coursed throughout his body.

“See I told you,” Labé chuckled.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Solo grunted as he slowly pulled himself up to his feet. His entire body was trembling.

“Now if you will follow me, I will take you to your partner.”

Napoleon followed him through a large arched doorway to a long hall. It was richly appointed with Persian rugs, potted ferns that were withering due to lack of sunlight and of course the walls were lined with numerous paintings. They followed the hall to a multilevel staircase, and finally to an upper balcony to another hallway.

They walked to the right, passing several doors until Labé halted, pointing to a door with a long bony finger.

“Mr. Kuryakin is inside. Though he may not be awake. The journey was a bit...shall we say, taxing on him. Your room is directly across the hall.”

Napoleon slowly opened the door, hesitant to look inside.

“I will expect you for dinner at five o’clock. Please be prompt Mr. Solo. You’ll find a tuxedo laid out for you.” Labé turned and simply left him.

The American finally walked inside, seeing Illya lying amidst a tangle of blankets on a large canopied bed. There was an oxygen tank and a single IV, but nothing else.

The Russian was a white as snow as Solo stepped up beside him, getting a better view. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes darkened and hollow; Illya’s face was framed by a tangle blond hair.

“Wake up buddy. It’s me,” Napoleon whispered, wanting badly to touch the Russian but he knew better. Even in a weakened state Kuryakin would lash out, acting instinctively.

He jostled the bed, and finally his partner opened his eyes.

“Napoleon?” Illya’s voice was muffled beneath the oxygen mask.

“Yeah it’s me. How you feeling?”

“Awful. It hurts to breathe and I am as weak as a newborn kitten. What happened? The last thing I remember was riding in the ambulance with you... “ Illya spoke haltingly, his breathing obviously congested.”Your face, it is bleeding.”

Napoleon surmised his partner hadn’t had a breathing treatment in quite some time. “A little gift from our host...don’t tax yourself by talking chum.”

Illya nodded, inhaling the oxygen through the mask.

“It’s Labé...he’s got us again. Put some sort of sleeping potion in the food you all ate. Since I didn’t have anything, he used knockout gas on me.”

“Are the others here?”

“Nope, just you and me ...like always.”

“Where is here?” Illya glanced around his room, seeing it was filled with antique furniture and tapestries on the grey stone walls. “Wait, do not tell me, we are in a castle.”

“How’d you guess that?”

“The masonry and generally castles make use of tapestries to keep the chill at bay. The heavy curtains on this bed as well as the bedding indicates we are somewhere damp and possibly cold.”

“Wow all that, from stonework, tapestries and bedding? You’ve pretty much hit the nail on the head; we’re in a castle somewhere along the shore of County Donegal in Ireland.”

“Ireland? Illya coughed for a moment, clearing some of his congestion.”Labé has gone to some trouble to deal with us. Why did he not just kill us outright?”

“Dunno. Maybe he’s like a cat, toying with it’s food.  He said he’s not going to do away with us just yet, so who knows what he has up his sleeve.”

“Why do you just not escape?” Illya finally removed the mask, hiking himself up in the bed, taking great effort to do so.

“He’s got the place remotely wired. All the doors and window are controlled electronically, and he has the control device. And besides I’m not going anywhere without you chum.”

“You must not worry about me, I will only impede your escape from this place. Napoleon this is a castle, surely there are some sort of secret passageways that cannot be wired. Look for those,” Illya started coughing, and Solo replaced the oxygen mask for him.

“We’ll talk about this later chum. You need to rest. I have a dinner date with our host and can’t be late so I’ll fill you in afterwards.” Solo looked at his wristwatch.

“Search any bookcases and the outer walls…” Illya gasped, removing the mask again.

“I will, scouts honor tovarisch. ”

Solo crossed the hall to his room, slowly opening the door before he stepped inside. It was caution out of habit he supposed, as why would Labé booby trap it when he went to all this trouble to bring them across the Atlantic ocean.

He found the tux exactly where Labé said it would be, but instead of changing, he wandered the room checking the walls as Illya had said.  Tapping and listened, looking for hidden levers but there was nothing, everything was solid. It was going to be harder than he first imagined...

Walking into the bathroom; he ran water in the sink and splashed it on his face. The area round the cut on his cheek was beginning to turn black and blue, and he applied a wet compress with a washcloth, for all the good it would do.

Napoleon sighed, resigning himself to getting dressed. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he smiled at the perfect fit of the tuxedo. Granted Labé could have had his measurements taken while he’d been unconscious, but it had been tailored, very well tailored.  So far Solo hadn’t seen anyone else...surely there had to be servants or minions in this place. So far their host had only mentioned a nurse.

He supposed dinner would reveal some of the help. He exited his room, walking slowly along the hall and downstairs; eyeing his route, looking for anything that might serve as a secret entrance to some sort of tunnel. Illya was right, these old castle had them.

“If I was the lord of this castle, I’d want an escape route that would be easy to reach in case of an emergency. Given the Irish were persecuted by their English rulers for practicing their religion it would make sense there’d be something here.  Secret rooms, and escape tunnels but they could be anywhere.

Napoleon reached the arched entrance to the great room and just as the grandfather clock next to the doorway chimed the hour, he stepped inside.

“Ah, punctual Mr. Solo. I like that in a person. Would you care to join me in a drink.” Labé stood beside a small liquor cart.

“No thank you.”

“Oh perhaps you think I’ll drug you again?”

“The thought passed my mind…”

“Suit yourself then, please be seated.”

The long dining table had been set for two with quite expensive porcelain place settings and when Napoleon seated himself, he examined the flatware more carefully. Sterling silver. He thought for a second about palming the knife, but that would be too obvious.

Labé seated himself, and rang a small dinner bell to his right.

Finally a new face appeared. A middle-aged gentleman dressed formally as a butler. He was pushing  a serving cart containing two covered dishes.

“This Mr. Solo is Seamus. He will help you with your every need, but don’t try to engage him in any sort of conversation or question him about the castle as he no longer has his tongue.

The poor fellow grunted his greeted as he bowed his head to the American.

“Now Seamus if you would be so good as to serve?”

He carried one of the dishes to the other side of the table, setting it in front of his master, lifting the cover and revealing an ornately prepared dish of pheasant.

“They’re raised here on the estate you know. Nice and fat and not in the least gamey,” Labé smiled.

Seamus returned to the cart, carrying the other dish to Napoleon and setting it down in front of him. Strangely the man backed away as if he were expecting something to happen.

Napoleon reached for the cover, hesitating wondering why the cover  hadn’t raised it for him as well 

“What, afraid of a booby-trap? Please Mr. Solo, why would I bring you here to do something so...childish.”

“No perhaps not.” He lifted it, expecting pheasant but he was served something different.

On the platter was what looked like white meat in a brown sauce. It was surrounded by a ring of carrots and green beans.

“What is it?” Napoleon sniffed.

“Oh I think you’ll enjoy it. I had it prepared it especially for you and your partner. Well I actually had a soup made for Mr. Kuryakin, as it would be easier for him to eat.”

Napoleon speared a piece of the meat, popping it into his mouth and chewing it. It’s taste was unidentifiable,  though not exactly pleasant.

“Yes we outdid outdid ourselves preparing rat just for you.”

Napoleon nearly choked, spitting what was left in his mouth into his napkin.

“You bastard Labé.” Napoleon pushed his chair back,  heading upstairs to his partner and leaving Labé as he howled laughing.

Solo burst through the door finding a woman dressed as nurse spooning soup into the Russian’s mouth.

“Illya stop! It’s rat...the soup is made from rats.”

“Yes I know as I am familiar with the flavor...at least this time it is cooked and the spices in the soup have enhanced the flavor.”

“He served me roast rat for dinner,” Napoleon kept himself from gagging at the thought.

“You must get over these things my friend, food is food,” Illya waved the nurse away as he’d had enough. His appetite still wasn’t up to it’s usual hearty self.

She left the room, not saying a word, taking the dinner tray with her, though for a second she stopped to eye the handsome American, and out of habit, Solo did the same.

“Hello there,” he smiled.

She shook her head no, and hurried shyly from the room.

“Don’t tell me, she’s mute?” He asked the Russian.

“Seemingly so, though I am not really sure. I simply assumed she was refusing to answer my questions. Did you check for tunnels?” Illya asked once she was gone.

“Yes but so far nothing.” He kept the thought to himself that perhaps this castle was like one big oubliette, one way in and no way out.

“Have you not tried to overcome him? Surely one karate chop would do it, as Labé hardly seems capable of defending himself?”

“He made sure of that,” Napoleon pointed out the ankle cuff. “Gives one hell of an electric jolt if I get too close to him.”

“If you can find me some tools, I might be able to disable it. In the mean time keep looking for a tunnel. There has to be…” Illya began to cough violently, so much so that Napoleon had to pound him on the back to help break up the congestion.

He said nothing as he help his partner lay back on his pillow, replacing the oxygen mask as Illya tried to gain his composure from the episode.

Napoleon worried more than ever as he was getting worse instead of better.  Was Labé really giving Illya the medication he needed? He had no way to know for sure.  There were no breathing treatments, and that was obviously causing a problem.   Perhaps if he talked to Labé he could convince him to get Illya the treatments.  What was the worst the man could do, say no?

Or perhaps this was part of Labé’s plan to let Illya languish and die slowly while his partner helplessly watched...just like in the oubliette.

There already was the threat of death hanging over both their heads…maybe this was the death Labé was referring to for Illya. Napoleon wondered what this lunatic had in store for him as well.

April landed the Learjet with ease at Shannon airport, not far from Limerick City.  Mark had turned over the controls to her nearly three quarters of the way there, as he could no longer keep his eyes open.

The flight had been smooth with little turbulence.

Once taxied to a stop the jet was put in a private hangar and the U.N.C.L.E. agents passed through customs.  Their identification made for an expedited approval, and luckily Waverly had wired documentation ahead as neither of them had their passports with them.

They quickly acquired a rental car, though Mark was nonplussed at the size of it, April was surprised at the size of the Austin Mini Cooper S.”

“Guess you’ve never been to the U.K. luv. The sub-compact car is a necessity here as the roads aren’t exactly built for a full sized automobile. Wait until we’re face to face with a lorry on a road barely passable for one, then you’ll see why a such a small car is so much better.”

“This is how people get around in... this?” She gestured with her hand, still astonished at the size of the car 

“Oh no, in most parts of the country here it’s very rural and people get around on foot, bicycle or even by horse cart. Sometimes the old-fashioned way can be more quaint and satisfying. Alot of the homes don’t even have modern conveniences….a thatch cottage can be pretty nippy on a cold night with only a turf fire in the hearth.”

“Really, sounds positively cozy. I wish we could find a little time for some sightseeing once we’ve gotten things wrapped up here and Napoleon and Illya are safe.”

“Doubt it, but first things first. How’s the homing signal.”

“Strong, but they still have quite a few hours lead on us, and not knowing the lay of the land is going to slow us down.  Looks like the signal is north of us.”

“Then north we go,” Mark started the mini Cooper, putt it in gear and headed out along the one main road leading from the airport. Two miles long, it was perfect for getting acclimated as he re-engaged his left-side driving skills that came back to him as easily as riding a bicycle.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Solo crossed the hall to his room, slowly opening the door before he stepped inside. It was caution out of habit he supposed, as why would Labé booby trap it when he went to all this trouble to bring them across the Atlantic ocean.

He found the tux exactly where Labé said it would be, but instead of changing, he wandered the room checking the walls as Illya had said. Tapping and listened, looking for hidden levers but there was nothing, everything was solid. It was going to be harder than he first imagined...

Walking into the bathroom; he ran water in the sink and splashed it on his face. The area round the cut on his cheek was beginning to turn black and blue, and he applied a wet compress with a washcloth, for all the good it would do.

Napoleon sighed, resigning himself to getting dressed. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he smiled at the perfect fit of the tuxedo. Granted Labé could have had his measurements taken while he'd been unconscious, but it had been tailored, very well tailored. So far Solo hadn't seen anyone else...surely there had to be servants or minions in this place. So far their host had only mentioned a nurse.

He supposed dinner would reveal some of the help. He exited his room, walking slowly along the hall and downstairs; eyeing his route, looking for anything that might serve as a secret entrance to some sort of tunnel. Illya was right, these old castle had them.

"If I was the lord of this castle, I'd want an escape route that would be easy to reach in case of an emergency. Given the Irish were persecuted by their English rulers for practicing their religion it would make sense there'd be something here. Secret rooms, and escape tunnels but they could be anywhere.

Napoleon reached the arched entrance to the great room and just as the grandfather clock next to the doorway chimed the hour, he stepped inside.

"Ah, punctual Mr. Solo. I like that in a person. Would you care to join me in a drink." Labé stood beside a small liquor cart.

"No thank you."

"Oh perhaps you think I'll drug you again?"

"The thought passed my mind…"

"Suit yourself then, please be seated."

The long dining table had been set for two with quite expensive porcelain place settings and when Napoleon seated himself, he examined the flatware more carefully. Sterling silver. He thought for a second about palming the knife, but that would be too obvious.

Labé seated himself, and rang a small dinner bell to his right.

Finally a new face appeared. A middle-aged gentleman dressed formally as a butler. He was pushing a serving cart containing two covered dishes.

"This Mr. Solo is Seamus. He will help you with your every need, but don't try to engage him in any sort of conversation or question him about the castle as he no longer has his tongue.

The poor fellow grunted his greeted as he bowed his head to the American.

"Now Seamus if you would be so good as to serve?"

He carried one of the dishes to the other side of the table, setting it in front of his master, lifting the cover and revealing an ornately prepared dish of pheasant.

"They're raised here on the estate you know. Nice and fat and not in the least gamey," Labé smiled.

Seamus returned to the cart, carrying the other dish to Napoleon and setting it down in front of him. Strangely the man backed away as if he were expecting something to happen.

Napoleon reached for the cover, hesitating wondering why the cover hadn't raised it for him as well.

"What, afraid of a booby-trap? Please Mr. Solo, why would I bring you here to do something so...childish."

"No perhaps not." He lifted it, expecting pheasant but he was served something different.

On the platter was what looked like white meat in a brown sauce. It was surrounded by a ring of carrots and green beans.

"What is it?" Napoleon sniffed.

"Oh I think you'll enjoy it. I had it prepared it especially for you and your partner. Well I actually had a soup made for Mr. Kuryakin, as it would be easier for him to eat."

Napoleon speared a piece of the meat, popping it into his mouth and chewing it. It's taste was unidentifiable, though not exactly pleasant.

"Yes we outdid outdid ourselves preparing rat just for you."

Napoleon nearly choked, spitting what was left in his mouth into his napkin.

"You bastard Labé." Napoleon pushed his chair back, heading upstairs to his partner and leaving Labé as he howled laughing.

Solo burst through the door finding a woman dressed as nurse spooning soup into the Russian's mouth.

"Illya stop! It's rat...the soup is made from rats."

"Yes I know as I am familiar with the flavor...at least this time it is cooked and the spices in the soup have enhanced the flavor."

"He served me roast rat for dinner," Napoleon kept himself from gagging at the thought.

"You must get over these things my friend, food is food," Illya waved the nurse away as he'd had enough. His appetite still wasn't up to it's usual hearty self.

She left the room, not saying a word, taking the dinner tray with her, though for a second she stopped to eye the handsome American, and out of habit, Solo did the same.

"Hello there," he smiled.

She shook her head no, and hurried shyly from the room.

"Don't tell me, she's mute?" He asked the Russian.

"Seemingly so, though I am not really sure. I simply assumed she was refusing to answer my questions. Did you check for tunnels?" Illya asked once she was gone.

"Yes but so far nothing." He kept the thought to himself that perhaps this castle was like one big oubliette, one way in and no way out.

"Have you not tried to overcome him? Surely one karate chop would do it, as Labé hardly seems capable of defending himself?"

"He made sure of that," Napoleon pointed out the ankle cuff. "Gives one hell of an electric jolt if I get too close to him."

"If you can find me some tools, I might be able to disable it. In the mean time keep looking for a tunnel. There has to be…" Illya began to cough violently, so much so that Napoleon had to pound him on the back to help break up the congestion.

He said nothing as he help his partner lay back on his pillow, replacing the oxygen mask as Illya tried to gain his composure from the episode.

Napoleon worried more than ever as he was getting worse instead of better. Was Labé really giving Illya the medication he needed? He had no way to know for sure. There were no breathing treatments, and that was obviously causing a problem. Perhaps if he talked to Labé he could convince him to get Illya the treatments. What was the worst the man could do, say no?

Or perhaps this was part of Labé's plan to let Illya languish and die slowly while his partner helplessly watched...just like in the oubliette.

There already was the threat of death hanging over both their heads…maybe this was the death Labé was referring to for Illya. Napoleon wondered what this lunatic had in store for him as well.

.

April landed the Learjet with ease at Shannon airport, not far from Limerick City. Mark had turned over the controls to her nearly three quarters of the way there, as he could no longer keep his eyes open.

The flight had been smooth with little turbulence.

Once taxied to a stop the jet was put in a private hangar and the U.N.C.L.E. agents passed through customs. Their identification made for an expedited approval, and luckily Waverly had wired documentation ahead as neither of them had their passports with them.

They quickly acquired a rental car, though Mark was nonplussed at the size of it, April was surprised at the size of the Austin Mini Cooper S."

"Guess you've never been to the U.K. luv. The sub-compact car is a necessity here as the roads aren't exactly built for a full sized automobile. Wait until we're face to face with a lorry on a road barely passable for one, then you'll see why a such a small car is so much better."

"This is how people get around in... this?" She gestured with her hand, still astonished at the size of the car.

"Oh no, in most parts of the country here it's very rural and people get around on foot, bicycle or even by horse cart. Sometimes the old-fashioned way can be more quaint and satisfying. A Lot of the homes don't even have modern conveniences….a thatch cottage can be pretty nippy on a cold night with only a turf fire in the hearth."

"Really, sounds positively cozy. I wish we could find a little time for some sightseeing once we've gotten things wrapped up here and Napoleon and Illya are safe."

"Doubt it, but first things first. How's the homing signal."

"Strong, but they still have quite a few hours lead on us, and not knowing the lay of the land is going to slow us down. Looks like the signal is north of us."

"Then north we go," Mark started the mini Cooper, putt it in gear and headed out along the one main road leading from the airport. Two miles long, it was perfect for getting acclimated as he re-engaged his left-side driving skills that came back to him as easily as riding a bicycle.


	7. Chapter 7

           
  


Napoleon was unable to sleep as the storm outside was still violently raging. Though there were no windows, but he could hear the winds howling and the cracks of thunder making their presence known.

Not being one for lazing about, he gave up tossing and turning in his bed and finally rose, wrapping himself in a grey robe Labé had provided to go along with the matching silk pajamas. He stepped into a pair of lamb’s wool slippers set on the floor beside the bed.

There was an entire wardrobe in the closet and dresser. Silk shirts, the finest tailored suits, and Italian leather shoes….another conundrum when it came to second guessing what Labé was up to.  If anything the man at least had good taste in clothing…

Labé seemed to spare nothing seeing to Napoleon’s creature comforts. Illya on the other hand was another story. The Russian was still dressed in the same hospital gown, though there were at least plenty of warm blankets on his bed...

  
Not having seen any signs of security cameras, the American agent ventured out into the castle on his first real scouting mission. His first stop was to check on his partner, and as he entered the room, he could hear Illya’s congested breathing as he slept.

He looked down at his friends face, satisfied Illya at least looked peaceful; the last thing he did was tuck the blankets around the man before he left.  
  


Napoleon checked the other rooms on the floor where he and Illya were staying, thinking going downwards was the best course of action. There was another narrow staircase leading upstairs, and he suspected that’s where Labé’s no doubt spacious quarters were located.

Finding nothing in the other two rooms, he walked down the staircase until he reached the bottom and the main foyer. The next room to be searched was the great hall, a place their host seemed to favor.

He moved the suit of armor next to the mantle, checking the mantle top, the molding and the stones around it. Nothing...nothing, nothing.

Napoleon was beginning to feel frustrated...and hungry. Having passed on the lovely rat dinner;  he headed to the kitchen hoping to find something to eat there, as well as to continue his search for a way out. To his dismay he found the refrigerator and all the cabinets locked, and no secret door either.

“Damn,” he mumbled under his breath as his stomach growled in protest.

Next he investigated was the library, and tried moving book after book, in the many cases hoping a secret panel slide open.  He checked the mantle there too without success.

Napoleon was checking the  stiffened, realizing he was being watched and turning he saw Seamus standing in the doorway holding a tray with a teapot, cup and saucer as well as a plate of scones with butter.

He raised the tray, indicating it was for the American, lowering it to an oak side table.

“For me?” Napoleon pointed to himself; receiving a nod from the mute butler.

“Safe?”

Seamus smiled for once, nodding vigorously. He poured the tea and took a sip from it as proof, as well as taking a bite from a scone.”

“You been watching me?” Napoleon asked as he inhaled the tea and the biscuit-like cakes.

Again another nod accompanied by a shrug.

“I suppose you’re to report what I’m doing to your master?”

This time Seamus shook his head indicating a ‘no.’

Napoleon shrugged as well, figuring what the heck.

“Do you know what I’m looking for?”

The butler took a pen from his jacket pocket and doodled the picture of a door on one of the napkins. “A way out?” He scribbled.

“Is there a secret tunnel out of here? One that’s not under control of  Labé’s security system?”

He nodded, waving for the American to follow him, leading Solo to the bottom of the grand staircase where he lifted the bottom step; it gave way with a small creak.

 

A section of the staircase slowly lifted revealing a darkened corridor, the opening lit by a single incandescent bulb. 

“Is this is a way out of the castle?”

Seamus nodded.

“You’ve used it yourself?”  
  


“Yes, to go outside to breathe fresh sea air. If the master discovered, he would surely punish us,” Seamus wrote on the napkin again. “Want to get away from him. He locks us in here for weeks if not months at a time, treating us like vermin. Nurse and I wish to leave, but need your help. We'll go with you if you wish to get escape. You will need Nurse as your friend is very ill.”

“Seamus, Labé told me we were in Ireland...is that true?”

A nod yes and he added to his note. “We are on an island off the coast of the Fanad peninsula in Donegal. Very remote and difficult to travel. Do you know how to sail a boat?”

Napoleon sighed as he crumpled up the note and stuffed it into his robe pocket. This was almost too good to be true. Was it genuine or was it Labé setting him and Illya up to willingly walk into another oubliette?

He had to decide and do it quickly before Illya became any weaker.

“Seamus my man, I will let you know...”

Another nod from butler and a turning of a newel post closed the stairs, hiding the secret tunnel once again.

 

Mark and April, though they’d gotten sleep on the flight were finally overcome by jet lag and though they wished otherwise, they were forced to stop for a few hours.

The sun was setting over the Connemara landscape making it look as though it were a backdrop for some weird science fiction movie.  The treeless land filled with minute flora took on a purple hue as the light faded. There were large white boulders dotting the surface, looking perhaps like what one might imagine the surface of the moon to be.  It was surreal and hypnotic.

They pulled the car into a small seaside village and Mark, more familiar with the way things worked in this part of the world, walked into the local pub while April waited in the car.

After ordering a pint of dark beer he inquired if anyone nearby offered Bed and Breakfast. Knowing his British accent might not go over well, he tried imitating an American one though why he chose a Texas twang...he was unsure.

“Excuse me, but me and the Missus are right tired from our flight over from the States. We heard you folks will put people up for the night for the price of a bed and breakfast. Is that right?”

He listened as some of the locals muttered together, speaking in Gaelic, and finally one of them answered in heavily accented English.

“Ah sure ‘tis a bed yer lookin’ fer, just for the night ye say?”

“Well at least for a few hours. The Missus is might tired, her being in a family way and we’re headed north to see her granny. Poor old lady is on her last legs so we need to...ugh, get there right quick.”

“Why didn’t ye say this was a family emergency lad. ‘Tis sure I can put the two of ye in a room upstairs,” the barman answered.

The price was settled upon and paid,  and Mark went out to the car, filling his partner in on their quickly contrived cover story.

“I’m your pregnant wife...?”

“I had to play the sympathy card as well as pretend I was a Yank. We’re in Gaelic speaking country and some of them aren’t too keen on the British.”

“So I take it we have a single bed.”

“One would assume,” he blushed. “Don’t worry luv, I’ll take the floor.”

“You will not. I know you’ll be the gentleman so we can share the bed for a few hours.”

April shook her head as she stepped out of the car. Luckily she was wearing a full grey woolen cape and could hide the fact she wasn’t actually preggers.

They stepped into the pub, Mark beaming with April holding his arm as he escorted her. She tried to put a little bit of a waddle into her gait, just for effect.

“This is my wife fellas, Mrs. Slate.

“Mark honey, why so formal? Hello, my name is April how are ya’ll? Ya’ll are so kind to be putting us up with such short notice. My granny will appreciate that.”

“And where would it be that your grandmother is living?” One of them asked.

“Ugh...um, you know the name is so darned hard to pronounce. I have it written on a piece of paper in the car.”

“Might it be Enniscrone in Mayo?”

‘No, no...that doesn’t ring a bell.

“Ní hea, ní hea, b'fheidir Carrowhubbock sin?” Some one spoke in Gaelic.

“What did he say?” April looked bewildered.

“Beggin yer pardon Missus, the amadaun (fool) fergot ye don’t have the Gaelic. He asked if it’s Carrowhubbock, that’s just outside Enniscrone.”

“Really I don’t recall,” she smiled charmingly as someone handed her tea served in a lovely floral bone china cup and saucer.

“So where are ye from in the Shtates?” Conor D’Arcy asked.

“Umm New York at the moment.”

“Aw would you be knowing my nephew Michael Kirwin…my sister Katie’s son. He lives in Maryland.”

“That’s a fair distance aways from where we live,” Mark answered, though a bit bewildered at first. He forgot that many of these people had never been beyond the confines of the area in which they were born and raised,  much less the county and had no concept of distance in the United States.

“Ah, mores the pity,” Conor said in response as he puffed on his pipe.

The locals were charmed by April’s auburn hair, though they called it ginger... asking if she was full blooded Irish. April supposed she could be as part of her cover, was since the grandmother they were going to visit was Irish and pointed that out to them

“Oh yes, ‘tis true, that’s right. That’s right,” they all agreed

“And yer family’s name?”

“Ummm...ugh, O’Harte.” April picked a name she’d read in a newspaper somewhere.

“O’Harte ye say? That’s a Sligo name by way of Grange. Is that where yer seanmhathair lives...sorry, I meant grandmother.”

“No, that’s not the name. As I said I can’t pronounce it.” April sighed, thinking these people, though just being friendly were relentless, bombarding her with questions like a friendly T.H.R.U.S.H. interrogation. She tried not to laugh as unlike the feathered friends; she didn’t want to insult them.

April and Mark both began to yawn and that finally ended the conversation. A toast was offered to the couple and Mr. and Mrs. Slate were finally led upstairs.

Luckily it was two single beds in the simple but cozy room. There were quaint eyelet lace curtains draped across the windows and of course the requisite portraits of Pope John the XXIII,  the Virgin Mary and the Sacred Heart of Jesus adorned one of the walls.

As soon as the door closed the agents both fell into their beds, not bothering to roll down the down-filled white duvets and were sound asleep within minutes.

Three hours later April awoke and after going to the bathroom down the hall she returned to wake her snoring partner.

“Mark dear, rise and shine we need to hit the road.”

“Wha? Oh sorry April,” he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and retrieved his hat from the floor.  It was nearly midnight by the time Mark freshened up and they tiptoed down the stairs, making their way out the door to where they’d left the Cooper parked.

The pub was empty as they expected it would be since the locals were men who’d be up early to work throwing out their fishing nets from their curraghs, or digging peat in the bogs for their fuel stocks.

This made for a clean getaway for the agents with no more questions to be answered.

“How’s the signal?” Mark asked as April pulled her communicator.

“Strong as ever and same direction. Wagons ho! North to Alaska James!”

“April what the devil are you talking about?”

“Just some quotes from John Wayne movies. He was my dad’s hero.”

“Sure luv, whatever you say,” Mark humored her as he drove off, turning on the headlights when they were just outside the confines of the village  
  
“Plip-plop plop…” raindrops began to hit the windshield and Mark turned on the wipers blades. Not long after it turned into a downpour with the wind-driven rain blowing in wildy off the water.

“Bollocks!” Mark swore, “This isn’t going to be easy.”

The mini-Cooper being so light, swayed as if it were being pushed by some unseen hand when the winds hit it. They continued north along some precarious roads, with immense bolts of lightning lilluminating the night sky.  Hours passed until April called out they’d reached their destination.

“The signal looks to be strongest here,” she pointed a small flashlight to their map, zeroing in on a town called ‘Ballyhoorisky,’ in Donegal.

The storm was still raging as they drove into town that consisted of simple row houses, typical of the country...each painted a different color. The streets weren’t in a logical straight line, but curved and as their layout followed the contour of the land itself.

The agents continued following the signal, taking them out of the town and literally to the edge of a cliff.

“Oh God, do you think they’ve been thrown to their deaths?” April moaned as they sat there in the car;  the only sounds were lumbering rolls of thunder while the waves crashed on the rocks below.  Winds continued to lash the car while the motor of the wiper blades hummed as it methodically swooshed them back and forth, back and forth.

“What’s that?” Mark said as lighting lit up the darkened sky.

They both squinted out at the sea, realizing they were looking at the outline of a castle perched atop an island just off shore.

“There Mark, that’s where they have to be!”  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Napoleon returned upstairs, stopping in to check on Illya. The Russian was asleep, but looked worse than ever, as if he were fading away.  That was when Solo decided to remove the IV line. If it contained antibiotics as Labé had said, then Illya should have been getting better.

What if his partner was slowly being poisoned? What if the food was poisoned as well? Was it caution or paranoia talking now? Something made him look in the dresser and in the closet.

Napoleon was shocked to find nothing. No clothing had been provided for the Russian. It was obvious now that Labé wasn’t expecting Illya to live and most likely was doing something to his partner to help expedite his death.

Solo decided to spend the night in Illya’s room, and crawled onto a what looked like a red silk embroidered opium bed, and as he laid there thoughts raced through his head.  Should he trust Seamus and Nurse or not?  Something had to be done, otherwise Illya wouldn’t make it.

He was usually a man of action, able to make split-second decisions under pressure but at the moment that confidence eluded him. Solo fell asleep still mulling it over.

There was a knock at the door, and Nurse slowly entered.

She nodded to Napoleon as he woke with a start, his hand automatically going to where his shoulder holster should have been. He felt like he’d been asleep for only a minute, when it in fact hours had passed.

Nurse pointed to her watch, signalling it was time for breakfast.  She became visibly upset when she saw the IV had been removed and gestured to Napoleon the universal position of the palms up, asking why the line had been tampered with.

“Poison, “ Napoleon mumbled, still tired from his night long meanderings.

“No no,” she waggled her finger, and wrote on a piece of paper.

“Antibiotics.”

“Can you be sure your master is telling the truth. My friend is getting worse, not better.”

“No, are antibiotics, I am certain.” She hesitated before writing further. “Of the food I am not. The master is a twisted evil man, that is why Seamus and I need to get out of here. He told me that he showed you the secret passage.”

“Yes he did. Now how do you and he know of the tunnel?”

She scribbled her answer. “Because we grew up in this castle. Our families worked for the old owner, who sold it to Mr. Mephisto-Labé.  We stayed to work for him, having no idea what a monster he is.  He did this to us.” She pointed to her mouth.

“Sorry...Nurse, by the way do you have a name?”

“Mairead,” she wrote down.

“Well, Mairead, I’m still thinking things over.” He took the notes, tossing them into the fireplace before he left the room.

Napoleon quickly showered and dressed for breakfast, heading down to the great room to join their host.  He wondered what surprise the man had in store today.  Though still hungry, he thought it in his best interests to pass on the food.

“Good Morning Mr. Solo. I trust you slept well?”

“As best as could be expected under the circumstances.”

Seamus brought a covered dish to Napoleon, placing it in front of him and revealing a plateful of Irish bacon, bangers, mash potatoes and slices of black and white pudding….a type of sausage made with pig's blood, barley, oats and beef fat for the black. White Pudding was similar but without the blood and made with minced liver. Either way, they looked pretty nasty.

“No thank you, I think I’ll pass,” Napoleon pushed the plate to the side, though the smell of it was terribly enticing.

“Suit yourself Mr. Solo. Do you play chess by the way?” There was flash of lightning followed by a long rumble of thunder. The rain was pelting against the window panes with ferocity, and looked as though it wasn’t going to stop any time soon.

“Yes, why?”

“Oh I thought we might play a game or two this afternoon. This dreary weather has me rather bored.

Napoleon huffed. “What’s your angle. You supply me with an entire wardrobe, yet nothing for my partner.”

“I am not expecting Mr. Kuryakin to recover, unless of course he’s put in hospital again where he can receive more intense treatments. However, I find you an intriguing man, one who has piqued my interest. I have a proposition for you. If you remain here as my companion...I will let your friend go.  You will both live, it is as simple as that if you accept my offer.”

Napoleon was taken aback, and never saw this coming at all.

“I thought you hated both of us and wanted us dead for depriving you of your ‘precious treasures?”

“I have forgiven you,” Labé said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. He speared a piece of bacon, popping it into his mouth. “Now come come, Napoleon...if I may address you as such. Eat up, the food isn’t tainted or made of rat, if that’s what you’re afraid of.  We can’t have you wasting away like Mr. Kuryakin can we?”

“All right Labé, I’ll take you up on your offer… a life for a life. I’ll stay here if it’ll save Illya.

Napoleon picked up on of the bangers and bit into it. The taste was astonishingly good, especially to a hungry man. Even if it Labé was lying and it was made from rat meat, he had to go along to maintain his ruse and get Illya, Mairead, Seamus and himself out of here before Labé would catch on.

Napoleon picked at his breakfast, feigning interest and finally excused himself to go check on his partner.

Labé smiled. “Yes you do that Napoleon. Say your goodbyes as I will have transport here for him very shortly.”

Napoleon went upstairs, finding Mairead with Illya, checking his pulse. An uneaten breakfast tray sat on the side table.

“It’s time Mairead, we’re going.” He knew damn well Labé wasn’t going to free Illya, and was most likely going to just kill him. They were under the gun now and had to get out before that madman brought his plan to fruition.

Napoleon went to his room, grabbing pants, several pairs of socks, a shirt and sweater for Illya, though they were too large, they’d at least help keep him warm.

He returned with the clothing, helping the nurse to dress his partner after removing the IV line. There was no way they could move the heavy oxygen tank and had to hope for the best.

Illya barely opened his eyes as he spoke. What are you doing?”

“We’re getting out of here chum, before its too late.”

“Good...sorry I cannot help you.”

Mairead went to fetch Seamus and in minutes the butler appeared, carrying trench coats for all of them.

“Good idea, “Napoleon smiled at the man. “I’ll need your help with Illya.

Together they lifted the Russian to his feet, though he was as light as a feather between the two men

“Okay buddy, try to walk if you can.”

“Da,” Illya weakly nodded as he took his first tentative steps, with the help of Napoleon and the butler he was able to move more easily.“Where is Labé?”

Seamus pointed his finger upwards. The man tried to speak, mouthing the word. “Baf.”

“He’s taking a bath?”

A nod yes was all Solo needed.

They headed downstairs with all alacrity, and once the door opened in the stairs, Mairead reached for a flashlight she and James apparently kept there.  She pulled a cobweb covered wooden lever in the wall, and the stairs lowered back into place until they were bathed in the light of the single bulb suspended from the tunnel ceiling.

Mairead pointed the way, and guiding them with the flashlight they carefully made their way through the winding tunnel, stopping when Illya began to cough.  The nurse pounded his back, helping to break up the congestion, and they were on their way.

Finally they found their way to what looked like a dead end. Mairead reached for another lever and pulling it; a false stone wall slid to the side.

They stepped out into the fresh air, though the thunder and lightning were wild in the sky and a cold rain was coming down in torrents; it felt wonderful. Freedom had a way making one feel that way regardless of adverse weather.

c

It seemed like they were home free, until two figures burst through a thicket, brandishing guns.

“April? Mark?” Napoleon called out in astonishment.

“In the flesh mate,” the Brit grinned. “And here we thought we’d be rescuing you both, but looks like you’ve gone and done that yourselves.”

“No time for small talk, Illya’s really sick, and we need to get out of here before we’re discovered missing.”

“Wait,” Illya croaked. “Where is the power source for the castle….the power lines?”

Seamus pointed to the left.

“What do you have in mind chum?” Napoleon asked, raising his voice against the din of the storm.

“Cut the power and Labé will be trapped inside.”

“Got ya mate, Mark smiled turning and heading off in search of the power lines.

“April are you wearing your charm bracelet?” The Russian gasped.

“Of course darling.”

“Toss some explosive charms into this tunnel to seal it.”

“Will do. Now you need to head that way,” she pointed, “We have a boat waiting for us down below.”

Dancer waited until they others were at a safe distance before pulling a silver pineapple charm and one of the Eiffel tower from her bracelet, tossing them into the entrance as she turned and ran to safety.

 

 

 

The concurrent explosions were massive. “BOOM! BOOM!”

April took off catching up with the others, and meeting up with her partner on the rocky path leading down to the docks.

“Power cut luv.”

They all climbed aboard the small fishing boat that Mark and April had commandeered, paying the captain and crew a pretty penny to cross to the island in stormy weather.

The Captain had been hesitant at first to approach the island; being a superstitious person, he spoke of the castle being haunted. No one ever wanted to go near the island for that reason.  Those who did, disappeared.

However, money talked and April, using her feminine wiles made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, with the promise of a kiss from a lovely ginger-haired woman sealing the deal.

The trip back to the mainland and the town of Ballinhoorisky was rough, and Napoleon sat below deck with the others, cradling Illya in his arms.

“Pretty smart of you tovarisch thinking of cutting the power and sealing the tunnel.”

“Yes, now it is Mephisto-Labé’s turn to be trapped in an oubliette of his own making, though he will have creature comforts eventually he will run out of food and have to subsist on rats and vermin.”

“You really want to leave him there?”

“Yes, he deserves it for what he did to me...us.”

“Cruel tovarisch, cold and cruel.”

“Sometimes that is necessary. He is a lunatic and the chance of him being loosed on the world again must not happen.”

Illya turned his face away, signaling the end of the discussion

 

Ghairovald Mephisto-Labé had just poured himself a cognac, and was setting up the chessboard in his library when he heard the explosions. The lights flickered and seconds later he was plunged into darkness; the storm clouds blocking most of the light, except for the blue flashes of lightning that lit of the sky for but a brief blink of an eye.

The chess pieces on the board vibrated and some fell from the concussion, rolling to the floor.

“No...noooo.” Labé moaned. He knew instantly Solo had done something and he searched upstairs, finding Kuryakin gone.

“Seamus! Mairead!”He shouted again and again, yet no one appeared. He grabbed his remote control, heading to the front door of the castle, and aiming the device at it...nothing happened.

He pressed the button over and over, now beginning to panic.

How could he get out? What had Solo done?  The only window in the entire castle was the one in the great room and that overlooked a dead drop to the sea and the rocks below.

Labé was trapped, and he knew it.  He returned by torch light to the great room, picking up his cognac, and downing it in one gulp.

He would figure a way out somehow. There had to be a way, he told himself. Those confounded U.N.C.L.E. agents had found one and taken his servants with them! There had to have been a secret way out of the castle, one that that accursed Seamus and Mairead must have shared with them.

He began a frantic search.

As large as his home was, he felt claustrophobic. The walls seemed as though they were closing in on him. His breathing was becoming short as the sense of panic at being trapped set in...his treasures brought him no pleasure now. He had been a fool. A fool!

He sat at his piano playing like a madman, melodies that went into dark minors and cacophonous chords...

.

 

Illya made a quick recovery in an Irish hospital with the right medicines and breathing treatments he grew much stronger and would soon be able to travel. He and his partner finally had a discussion about Labé.

Solo convinced the Russian that leaving the man to die alone was wrong, and though Kuryakin coldly insisted the man deserved it; he backpedaled, and finally agreed that a clean up team should be sent in to rescue Labé, on the assurance the man be sent to a high security insane asylum, far far away.

The next day Napoleon received a communiqué  from the team, and it wasn’t good news, though it a way it was, sat least for Illya. He went to his partner's hospital room to give it to him.

“Tovarisch, I just received a report about our friend Labé,” he hesitated.

“What? Please do not tell me he escaped?” Illya groaned, pulling himself up in the bed.

“Well in a way he did...he took a cowards way out. He hung himself from the chandelier in the great room.

The news was met with a satisfied look from Kuryakin…  
  
"That makes you happy?" Napoleon smiled.  
  
"Completely, as there is one less lunatic in the world to worry about."  
  
"You do know there is always one waiting in the wings to take his place."  
  
"Oh thank you for that cheerful thought," Kuryakin moaned.  
  
Napoleon produced a small lunch bag from behind his back. "Here I think this'll make you smile."  
  
"What is it?" Illya grabbed the bag, knowing somehow it was food. Real food and not just soup and green jello.  
  
"Corned beef on rye with mustard. A touch of the Irish for ye," Solo chuckled. "It's not easy to find here as apparently corned beef is more American than Irish."  
  
There was no sarcastic retort from the Russian as he was already eating the sandwich...rolling his eyes appreciatively at the taste of his first bite.

.

  
Finis


End file.
